


i have found what you are like

by what_on_io



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, There's a cat involved and it's all very cosy, Tumblr Prompt, maybe being awake at 3am isn't so bad after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7475373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_on_io/pseuds/what_on_io
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pounding bass thrummed through the floor of Harry's room, making the furniture tremble with a singular beat. The same CD had been playing practically all day on a loop, with the volume cranked up as loud as it would go. It really was just his luck that his childhood nemesis would move into halls next door to him, and with an endless rock CD to boot.</p>
<p>He'd have to confront Malfoy, it appeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i have found what you are like

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to an anonymous ficlet prompt on my [tumblr](http://www.what-on-io.tumblr.com), which asked for 'Hi, what about a university AU with a ship of your choosing? Cuddles + kittens preferable'
> 
> Title from e.e. cummings.

Pounding bass thrummed through the floor of Harry's room, making the furniture tremble with a singular beat. The same CD had been playing practically all day on a loop, with the volume cranked up as loud as it would go. Music, he reckoned, shouldn't be that loud for that long, especially not on a Tuesday night when everyone in his building should, by all rights, be sleeping. It'd gone three a.m., and he'd long since given up on achieving any slumber himself, morning lectures be damned.

  
Worst of it was, he thought things had been getting better. It had been over a month since he'd had any real complaints about his next door neighbour. Over a month since the last insults had been thrown in the communal kitchen, since one of his other flatmates had had to physically restrain him or Draco from fisticuffs in the hallway.

  
After all, it was very hard to get riled up when the worst torment Draco could muster in the end was 'nice hair, Potter'.

  
It had almost developed into friendly banter. Well, _almost_ , but Harry wouldn't quite go that far. He was still half convinced that Malfoy was still the same pointy git he'd known at school. Which he was. Probably. Deep down. Rich kid with rich parents, living out of daddy's pocket. He'd been a right bully all through secondary school, and although things had gotten a little better at sixth form, Harry doubted there would be much more improvement.

  
Maybe he'd been fooled into thinking the git might've grown up a little at university. After all, if he looked beyond a few petty squabbles those first few weeks, the fact that it was abundantly clear Draco had never had to cook for himself in his life, and that, a couple of times, Harry had spotted a cleaner Draco must've hired leaving his bedroom - if he ignored all that, one could certainly believe that Draco Malfoy wasn't all bad. There was the time he'd made Harry toast, for example. Git said he hadn't realised how much you were supposed to put in the toaster, and his bread was about to go out of date anyway, but Harry'd appreciated the gesture. And Draco had delivered it to his door instead of chucking it away. And when Harry had missed lectures one day because he'd been sick the night before, well, Draco had only lent his notes because they were on the same course. Right? And the way Malfoy had blushed when he said Harry's hair looked nice - just coincidence.

  
Anyway, it just figured, didn't it, that he'd be sharing a flat with his childhood nemesis. Just Harry's luck, really - escaping his terrible upbringing, the taste of freedom on his tongue, only to have it come crashing down around him the minute he'd stepped into his new accommodation and spied Malfoy carrying his own boxes down the corridor in front of him. Just his bloody luck. Of course Draco would occupy the room next to his.

  
And now the music. It was making Harry's head pound along in time to the rhythm, and his vision was swimming a little from sleep deprivation and the headache throbbing at his temples.

  
He'd have to confront him, it appeared.

  
Harry didn't much fancy knocking on Malfoy's door at some godless hour in the morning, but it fell to him to stop the racket. Everyone else, it appeared, was either already asleep or past caring. So Harry retrieved his glasses from the bedside table, shoved his feet into a pair of slippers, and padded out into the hall.

  
The music was louder from out here, he realised. And knocking on the door resulted in absolutely nothing. Harry's feeble attempt at attracting Draco's attention couldn't be heard above the din.

  
He could call the security office, he reckoned. File a noise complaint. But there were hefty fines for that, and he kept thinking of Malfoy knocking at his own door with a plate of toast in his hand, sheepishly nudging the offering to Harry. Losing the money wouldn't hurt him, of course, but... it felt cruel, somehow.

  
"Malfoy!" Harry yelled, still pounding at the door. Nothing. Shit. Well, he would either have to give in and resign himself to not sleeping at all, or-

  
Harry gave the door an experimental push, surprised when it gave way beneath his fingertips. Draco hadn't locked it, then. Harry warily shouldered the door open the rest of the way, the music permeating through his eardrums and into his skull, and then-

  
"Potter?!" Malfoy sprung up from where he reclined on the bed, still fully dressed, thank God. Harry hadn't really considered what he might walk in on. Probably for the best, really, else he might have started thinking of Malfoy naked-

  
Fuck. What the hell was he thinking? Malfoy naked wasn't anything he wanted to see. Of course not.

  
"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" Malfoy yelled over the music, extending an arm to fumble the volume on the stereo down. When he moved, the mattress jostled a bit with the shifting of his weight, and something moved amongst the crisp white sheets.

  
"Your music was too loud," Harry muttered, stepping further inside to inspect the movement's source, "I did knock."

  
"Oh, so your next logical step was to barge right in? Of course, Potter, join the party! Have a seat!"

  
It didn't occur to Harry, for a prolonged moment, that Draco was being sarcastic, and he plopped himself down on the edge of the bed, too tired to care much when Malfoy shot him an incredulous look from across the room.

  
"I didn't mean- Look, I've turned it off. Alright? Now get the fuck out."

  
"What did you have it so loud for?" Harry mused, surreptitiously leaning a little to his left, where the movement had originated from. He slid his hand amongst the covers, under the duvet, while Draco watched him with an expression caught somewhere between amused and stricken.

  
"I fancied a blinding headache, Potter, obviously," Malfoy spat, gritting his teeth. Harry, confused, sat up a bit straighter, intending to question him, but, at feeling the duvet squirm at the last second, froze.

  
"What the-"

  
"Potter, don't-!"

  
Too late, of course. Harry succeeded in wrestling the covers away from him, and out leapt a huge white lump, that, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a large, long-haired cat with a tiny lilac bow fastened around its neck.

  
Both Draco and Harry stared at the animal as if it had appeared out of thin air. The cat stared back with wide green eyes, then stuck its head haughtily in the air, apparently offended at being disturbed. When Harry managed to tear his gaze away to look back at Draco, the other man was looking fixedly down at the immaculate carpet and pointedly avoiding Harry's gaze.

  
"You have a cat," Harry said, stupidly. Draco managed a small nod.

  
"I do indeed, Potter." The admission came quietly.

  
"You're not allowed pets in the dorm," Harry pointed out.

  
"I'm aware."

  
Draco sighed, and a silence fell over them for a few seconds, before the cat let out a plaintive mewl and Draco ran nervous fingers through his platinum hair before bending to scoop the pet into his arms. A similar noise escaped his lips as he pressed his forehead gently to the cat's belly, "I couldn't leave him behind, Potter. He was distressed. Abraxas doesn't do well at home without me." The words were almost a whine.

  
"Erm, right," Harry muttered. He didn't have much experience with pets, unless you counted the dog Dudley had kept for a couple of days before returning to the pet shop, because it barked too loudly and too often. Or the fish he'd killed when he was five, because he'd tipped an entire tub of food into the tank with them and Vernon had declared it a 'job well done'. Harry had found the fish the next morning, floating at the top of the water, bloated and sad, and been blamed for the whole thing.

  
"Doesn't he get a bit... claustrophobic, in here all the time?" Harry inquired.

  
"I let him out of the window when he wants fresh air. He never goes very far, so nobody's ever spotted him. And he's allowed in the kitchen when I'm certain everyone else is asleep," Draco confessed, "Not too often, though. He can be very loud when he wants to be." Harry nodded, as if mulling it over.

  
"Hence the music?" he wondered.

  
"Yes. Hence the music." Another beat of silence. Harry toyed with the edge of the duvet, glancing around Malfoy's room, which was kept spotless, thanks to the hired help. Not a trace of cat hair anywhere. Harry's own room was a pigsty in comparison. He couldn't even imagine Malfoy straightening his bedcovers of his own accord, but watching him holding his cat like it was the most precious thing in the universe made Harry suspect that even if Draco wasn't much good at looking after himself, he might be alright at keeping Abraxas alive and concealed.

  
"Go on, then. Go and tattle to the porters. I'll pack up his things," Draco muttered. Harry had time to wonder what 'things' one solitary cat could possibly require before spluttering out reassurances.

  
"I'm not gonna tell on you," he said, hurriedly, "Just- less of the rock music at 3 a.m., alright? I didn't even know you liked rock."

  
Draco's look of quiet surprise wasn't missed by Harry, but he collected himself enough to mutter, "I don't. But Tchaikovsky makes Abraxas tetchy."

  
The words were delivered in such a deadpan that Harry couldn't help it - he erupted into laughter. Draco narrowed pale grey eyes at him before a hint of a smirk appeared at the corner of his lips, and, against his better judgement, started giggling.

  
Good God, thought Harry, distantly. He'd made Draco Malfoy _laugh_. And he didn't look half bad doing so, either. Draco's eyes lit up when he smiled - they went sort of crinkly at the corners, and there was a glint in them the likes of which Harry had never seen before on the other man. And his smile - Draco smiling was a rare thing as it was, but in Harry's presence! It made his features softer, somehow, and the curve of his lips made Harry want to-

  
No. He definitely did _not_ want to kiss Draco Malfoy.

  
Definitely not.

  
Except, he kind of did.

  
Perhaps it was the late hour, the feeling that it might only be the two of them awake in the whole building (probably an illusion, though - if Malfoy's other neighbour hadn't been woken by that music, Harry would bet they were either deaf or dead). Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of finding a cat hidden in Draco's bedclothes, or the shared laughter, or the full moon shining outside.

  
But really, Harry thought back to that piece of toast, buttered on both sides because Malfoy's cooking skills were abysmal, really, and a little burned, and handed to him on one of Draco's own square plates. And he couldn't help but want to kiss Malfoy.

  
So he leaned forward a couple of inches, scooting over until his face was just a breath away from Draco's own. The silence stretched between them for a few moments, and Harry looked into those grey irises and saw his own nervousness reflected back at him. Draco's tongue suddenly darted out to wet dry lips, and then he wasn't sure which of them had moved first, but their mouths were pressed together and Harry's arms were sliding up, one curling around Malfoy's neck and the other going to touch his cheek. Draco reciprocated in kind, reverent fingers tracing Harry's jaw with such gentleness it made Harry ache.

  
Draco pulled away first, a hand going to his lips as if to imprint the kiss there longer. He looked wild, blonde tufts of hair standing up at odd angles, cheeks flushed pink. Harry had a fleeting vision of running his fingers through the gossamer strands, see if Draco's hair was as soft as it looked. The sound of Draco clearing his throat broke the daydream, and Harry turned his attention back to the other man.

  
"Well, that was- unexpected," he coughed, awkwardly. He was back to toying with the sheet, worrying it through hesitant fingers.

  
"Was it?" Harry blurted. He didn't think he'd imagined the blush when Draco complimented him, now. Nor the appreciative looks he'd spied Malfoy sending him in the corridor that time, still a bit tipsy after a night out. Come to think of it, Harry remembered brushing past Draco in the kitchen one day and seeing him so flustered he dropped an open can of tinned peaches onto his bare foot.

  
Harry wondered if he'd been as obvious, too, the time he'd spotted Draco in a club and nearly spilled a drink all over himself at the sight of him writhing in the centre of the dancefloor. Or the time he'd carefully selected a seat in the library to allow himself the best view of Draco while he leaned over a textbook. Or the time he'd purposely left a recipe book open in the kitchen at a page full of breakfast ideas when he'd seen Draco eating a dry croissant for the fifth day running.

  
"I mean, you did bring me toast," Harry pointed out.

  
Draco looked lost for a minute, before apparently placing the incident in his memory. His eyes narrowed again, "I didn't think you remembered that," he muttered. Harry inched a hand over to absently tuck a loose strand of hair behind Draco's left ear, revelling in the blush that rose to his cheeks. He really was beautiful, Harry noted. Not at all as pointy as he'd been in secondary school. Still angular, mind, but there was a softness to him, too, and his skin was silky smooth to the touch.

  
"I hardly think one round of toast makes up for years of torment, Potter," he grit out eventually. Harry shrugged, surprised to find he didn't much care. The past was the past, and all that. Plus, he was certain now that Draco had changed. He was pretty sure he'd seen him thanking the cleaner the other day. And the way he held Abraxas. Just last month, Draco had given one of the kids on a school tour of the university correct directions to a lecture hall. And then there was the way he was looking at Harry now, as if he couldn't believe his luck.

  
"You're not that bad, you know," Harry grinned, "I rather suspect you might actually be nice, underneath all your posturing."

  
"Me, nice?" Draco huffed, and Harry could feel his breath ghosting over his cheekbones, "Never."

  
Draco was definitely the one who instigated the kiss that time, a bit too suddenly for both of them, causing Harry's glasses to knock against the bridge of his nose, but neither of them minded very much. In fact, it seemed the only one who minded was Abraxas, who was once again mewling unhappily and scratching claws against the door.

  
"Maybe Abraxas wasn't so distressed at home," Draco conceded quietly when they'd pulled apart to breathe.

  
"No?" Harry asked, not pushing. He watched Draco's fists clench in the covers, watched his expression shift from reluctant to resigned, and placed a gentle hand over his, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles in a gesture he hoped was comforting.

  
"No. I think, perhaps, I might've been a bit-" Malfoy took a deep, shuddering breath, "-lonely. It's not too easy to make friends when you were..."

  
"A bit of a prat in high school?" Harry offered. Draco smacked his arm lightly, huffing a laugh.

  
"I was going to say 'raised differently', but yes, I admit I was... a bit of a prat," he grumbled, "But- maybe he can go back to live with my parents now. I mean, if- you know. If you wanted-"

  
"Of course," Harry replied, surprised at how easily the words came, "I don't fancy you being lonely, thanks very much. If I'd known before-"

  
"Oh, shut it, Potter. You hated me, you wouldn't have done anything differently."

  
"You always did lament my chivalrous nature, Malfoy-"

  
"Christ, you're _insufferable_ ," Draco hissed, and Harry decided he quite liked Malfoy's new way of shutting him up. As their lips met for a third time, Harry shot Abraxas a conspiratorial thumbs up, before letting his fingers tangle in Draco's hair.

  
Harry decided being awake at three in the morning might not be that bad, after all. And maybe he could learn to love pounding bass thumping through the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise profusely to anyone who read the entirety of this shitfest. This is where drunk writing gets you, honestly.


End file.
